


Nature of the Beast Poetry Drabbles

by MiniKoontzy



Series: Nature of the Beast Poetry Drabbles [1]
Category: Transformers: Robots in Disguise (2015)
Genre: Other, Poetry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-05 03:14:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11569140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiniKoontzy/pseuds/MiniKoontzy
Summary: I decided as a kind of motivational assignment to write some poetry about Nature of the Beast characters, namely my fellas, but I'll probably expand out later. I've convinced myself that I can't write poetry thanks to past bad experiences with it, so this is a way of staring myself down and going "yes, you can." I'll leave it up to you reviewers to be the better judge. Enjoy!





	1. The Weighted Scale/To My Darling Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Weighted Scale: Counterforce, though a law officer, involves morality in his work more so than others in his trade. Decisions like that are never easy, nor made in an instant.
> 
> To My Darling Night: Though he'll never speak it out loud, at least not yet, Counterforce adores a certain temperamental Kaonian Seeker femme despite her checkered activities.

Nature of the Beast: Poetry

Counterforce: The Weighted Scale/To My Darling Night

What is right  
and wrong?  
A loaded question asserts  
philosophy.  
Trigger words!  
shout coddled youth.  
No easy answer

Says I.

Weight depends  
on angles  
twisted and knotted up in opinion's roots.  
Data  
(that finest femme!)  
is rarely  
cited. There in all, oft  
unacknowledged.  
She suspends  
her baited _Pa'oua_  
from mind-wires,  
whispering sweet knowings.

But bait is not taken  
by the wise.

Or

is it?

Wisdom is wizened by experience.

To see,  
is blindness.

To act,  
is idiocy.

A weighted scale.  
Countless weights.  
Some right.  
Some wrong.

More.

Less.

Magnet ends meet not willingly  
My choice? Task?  
Choose,

or make them meet.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I did not mean to meet the Night  
I did not mean for love to bite  
But Night is soft and gentle, sweet  
where Light brings harsh and blinding heat.

Night fears bright Light that others trust,  
where I, dear fool, within combust  
at every silver, moon-kissed smirk  
she grants to me, her humble clerk.

Before each hunt she calls to me  
so I might hear her hopeful plea  
'I'm not afraid,' she says, 'not now  
The Night and I are One, somehow.'

Night has Her own pale silver gleam  
that heralds starlight's twinkling dream  
Beneath silk moons She slinks and soars  
without Light's warmth that Night abhors.

In cold she hunts whilst I, alone,  
pray for her health within my home.  
'Will she return from Night alive  
to feast on Light that's been deprived?'

Night may fear Light, but loves it too  
Her own light trapped in morning dew  
But I, alone, still hope, still pray  
that Light rise soon to chase Night away.

When comes the dawn's uprising burn  
My prayers grow still and life-force yearn  
for her to call and dash my fright  
that I cannot help her with my Light.

Oh, why must Light adore Night so  
when Night has not Light's warming glow?  
I am the mouse, and she, the Cat,  
who loves her so and won't fight back.


	2. I Envy/The Luminal Chain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I Envy: Sentenza is someone who yearns to enjoy the cool peace of night but never can. 
> 
> The Luminal Chain: The animal writhing inside loathes light in any form, and so Sentenza herself craves it like a drug -- one she cannot fully enjoy. 
> 
> Demon Song: Written by a fan over on Fanfiction who got inspired. Credit to her, but she insists credit to me as well for inspiring her to write it.

Nature of the Beast

Sentenza: I Envy/The Luminal Chain/Demon Song  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
I envy those privileged  
to admire night.  
I envy the star-gazer, who sees beyond time  
in the twinkling chorus arriving  
past death.  
I envy _niv'ytlo_ – night-dwellers relish   
her cool digits.  
She soothes hot mesh as ice  
soothes aching wounds.  
I envy the student, blasé to time  
enjoying life  
carried  
on high grade whiffs.

Fear mounts  
in her velvet embrace  
Will She  
escape Her luminal chain?  
Dark.  
A fickle mistress, she  
brings only pain  
to me.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
A Demon's chain snaps taught  
under your tender touch.  
But you  
You fear.  
You fight.  
A wild beast has manners more, and light,  
excessive,  
abhorred.  
Writhing Witch!  
Hissing Hollow!  
Screaming Sin!  
(more fitting names  
for you,  
dear Demon)  
Curses in tongue  
lost and found,  
spat in hate of his sweet  
caress.  
Light.  
A loyal servant, he  
brings sultry Promise

alone

to me.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
*MysticFire101 got inspired by the above pieces and wrote this. I did some minor editing in the realm of word choice, structure, and grammar, but otherwise this is hers. :)  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Stalker in moonless night,  
never fears,  
only fights.

Assassin of wrong,  
you sin,  
chilled clouds sound a swan-song.

Twist  
Slash  
Goodbye,  
Frame falls to Her fang,  
sinned life has faded where you lie.

Blade of wind,  
claws of dark,  
song of fury,  
eyes of spark.  
Steps of silence,  
wings of grace,  
moving with shadows,  
from place to place.

Kaon's Demon,  
fiend forged in ice,  
Brings out old fear to  
extract lofty price.

You run,  
you climb,  
you fly for your life,  
but the Demon will find you,

and put an end to your strife.


	3. Simple Kindness/Farewell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simple Kindness: Charity, an apprentice medic, sees no need for flowery expressions of kindness. Kindness can be a simple thing. Kindness _is_ a simple thing.
> 
> Farewell: Saying goodbye is never easy, but in the end -- are they really gone?

Kindness need not  
be intricate.  
It need not be Mannerism's twisting maze,  
compass lacking needle.  
Instead a loving smile will do  
to warm a heckled, dreary frame.  
An easy road is Kindness, creation's silken lane.

Kindness need not be  
Speech's kaleidoscope hues.  
Kindness can be honeyed song, lyrical  
in flow and ebb.  
No finer s'tmo or ixtli matches.  
A tranquil string is Kindness, courier of tacit love.

Kindness need not be  
awkward, edgy touch.  
Fond embrace or modest brush of  
armor passing; a tap on life's hard casing.  
A Guardian's gentle touch is Kindness,  
spring-tender, summer warm and soft.

Kindness need not be  
harsh.  
Blunt.  
to sit  
to listen  
there lies Frustration's festering fallacy.  
A patient audial is Kindness,  
ever hearing a stranger's aches.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
saying goodbye  
is never easy  
to lose what once was loved is  
losing brush strokes on tapestries  
hand-crafted with chronal paints

love’s loss is not lessened  
knowing songs heard in after  
cannot be heard by now.

they dance  
they sing  
graceful, ghostly flutterings  
unheard, unseen by  
loss's longing glance


	4. A Painter's Purpose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Painter's Purpose: Zodiac, a member of the Sky Painter's tribe of Predacons, may not be an active performer, but she doesn't need to be to understand what their purpose really is.

Nature of the Beast

Zodiac: A Painter's Purpose  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
A Painter's purpose is  
not to sing  
to deaf masses, or  
to audiences who shun  
our heritage.  
We are composers  
who compose  
not alone to entertain  
but to widen minds  
hindered by narrow  
optics.

We sing to educate.  
We sing to debate,  
(no lance as lethal as lyrical quarrel)

We sing to praise.

A Painter's purpose is  
not to act  
out the playwright's writes.  
We wear no masks  
but lift them.  
Scenes are more than a sight and sound.  
Not all words need voices.

We act to show.  
Obscurity revealed.

We act to praise.

A Painter's purpose is  
not to paint on  
canvas, hologram, or airstream jetty.  
Art grasps meanings greater than mere aesthetic.  
A mountain vista holds more power  
than army marching to field.  
Wind – delicate brush, a hundred hues  
in every bristle.  
Calligraphy holds nuanced detail  
caught not first, but second, third, fourth,  
at last.

We paint to  
paint our world  
with meaning.

We paint to praise.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hound's Hymn: Predacon hunters appreciate the life that wanders the metal mountains, plains, and rusty, swirling flats -- so much so they create hymns to show their gratitude to the First Beast and the Old Light. This is but one such hymn, sung by Canipids like Frostbite before _xottgdgd_ \-- a hunter's first hunt.

Nature of the Beast

Frostbite: Hound's Hymn  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Horns howl, stone-old, curling through ravine and mountain.  
The pack, eager, bounds to its muster  
out to flat field where skitter bless'd fountains  
in flocks and dancing clusters.  
A cry, a slip,  
the hunt begins.  
New-forged sparks scamper and nip  
deaf to high-walled cries of "Sin!"

_Lord of Beasts, Lord of Hounds!_  
_Keep our senses sharp like rays_  
_and guide our trackers, loyal, bound_  
_so they may never lose their way._

The fringe-scouts whirl, snapping necks,  
and rending claws.  
Hunters dive to pin and peck  
opening canyons with stalactite jaws.

_Lord of Beasts, Lord of Hounds!_  
_Keep our senses sharp like rays_  
_and guide our trackers, loyal, bound_  
_so they may never lose their way._

A flash of blue, the hunt complete.  
Beasts are welcome to reap this bounty,  
prize laid low by savage, ancient fleet.  
Children dare't spoil our sacred prize.  
To waste our gifts, to break our creed  
results in brand, in exile, forever despised.  
No hunter may dare to howl loud their greed;  
No – greed is the blood in which we were baptized,  
a sin ever hanging and waiting to breed.

_Lord of Beasts, Lord of Hounds!_  
_Keep our senses sharp like rays_  
_and guide our trackers, loyal, bound_  
_so they may never lose their way._


	6. In Here, In Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Racing Fun: Backdraft loves to race through the streets of Altihex, loves the rush of wind and the roar of his engine. 
> 
> In Here, In Now: Shifter Followers like Backdraft never put too much stock in the past. Instead, they focus on the present and the hopeful (and fun) future. 
> 
> Shifter's Oath: The simple but binding oath taken by a prospecting _A'amlvus_ before induction into the Shifter Prime, Amalgamous's, ranks.

Backdraft: Racing Fun/In Here, In Now/ Shifter's Oath

*Little experiments with different poem types*

To race  
through jam-packed roads  
laughing at the thunder,  
deaf to trouble and distant past  
is fun.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
_A'almvi_ live in Here, in Now  
adhering to our humble vow.  
Not one regrets our choice, our past  
for such lost times are too downcast!  
We sing, we holler, we dance in streets  
to buoyant city-wide beats  
Comedians, hooligans, Samaritans all, who live

in Here, in Now.

Led into cell, blame not bad luck  
We see chance to prove our pluck  
to brighten lives as dull as pitch  
as we fall into our merry niche  
Ire melts at joke, at pun  
at comedic notes and fun  
We laugh with those who brought us there  
until they cannot stand our snare  
At dawn they beg for us to flee  
and so once more begin our spree  
Out in the air we dance, we spring  
among our brothers, sisters, all amassed, we cling

In Here, in Now.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
"I solemnly swear that my mischief is managed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Here, In Now started out as a certain poem type, but I went back in and it felt incomplete, so I added a few lines that kind of break the pattern I was using, but hey -- Backdraft's just that kinda guy. He doesn't listen to rules. -.o
> 
> The Shifter's Oath is an epigraph poem and plays on the words used to activate and disable the Maurauder's Map from Harry Potter.


End file.
